A Matter of Consent
by Ida Expurgation
Summary: Five times Sherlock groped John through his trousers platonically and the one time he didn't.


**Based on this prompt by capaow over on the BBC Sherlock kink!meme:**  
**"5 times Sherlock groped John through his trousers (for a case) and one time he did it with sexual intent."**

**This is my first fic, be gentle.**

-

I.

John had been living at the flat for three days. He hadn't even unpacked all his boxes.

So when Sherlock walked up and put his hand in John's right pocket apropos of nothing, John was shocked to say the least. John reeled in surprise, attempting to form some kind of protest. A moment later the hand withdrew, holding John's phone and the moment for protest had passed.

John doesn't know it yet, but as he watches Sherlock purposefully punching digits on his phone, this is about to set a tone for the rest of his stay at Baker Street.

II.

They are locked in a broom closet in the dark and for the fourth time that morning John wishes he had been able to finish his morning tea.

"Get off my foot, Sherl-"

"Hold still!"

"Well it's not as if I can -"

"John, I need your Browning."

"AHH! That is NOT my pistol Sherlock!" But Sherlock has already groped around to the correct spot and withdrawn the pistol from John's waistband. John has only a second longer to feel embarrassed, when the door is thrown open. After that it's all blinding white light, gunshots, shouting thugs and running. Lots and lots of running.

Later on, as the Lestrade is placing the ring leader in handcuffs, John thinks back on being molested (again), and prays that this doesn't become a pattern.

III.

It is most certainly becoming a pattern.

John and Sherlock are climbing a rope ladder in hot pursuit of one of the most ridiculous villains to date - a man with an unhealthy fixation on taxidermy and water polo.

It's been a long case, drawn out in part by the fact that Sherlock and John are both recovering from boxing injuries (from an unrelated case).

"Quickly John! We're losing him!" But Sherlock doesn't even finish before he is grabbing John's ankle. John looks down the ladder, knuckles turning white as he takes in the immense height of the building they are currently ascending.

With a huff of frustration, Sherlock begins to overtake John on the ladder as his patience expires. There is a scramble as Sherlock's hands land on Johns inner thigh, then waist, then arms respectively.

John grips the ladder tightly as Sherlock's feet push off his shoulders. He looks up to see Sherlock already five rungs above him and climbing quickly.

John sighs and begins to climb on.

IV.

"John, I know you've hidden them. Where are they?" Sherlock's eyes glint dangerously in the morning light as he throws a pillow off the couch in his haste.

John turns another page in his newspaper, refusing to dignify Sherlock's begging with a response.

Sherlock upends entire shelves of books onto the floor during his search, not bothering to pick them up as he moves on to look in another spot.

John reads a few more lines before he pauses. Sherlock has gone silent. John looks up from the paper to find Sherlock regarding him with eyes narrowed, gaze honed with frightening intensity.

John has the good sense to feel dread.

Quite suddenly Sherlock has crossed the room and pulled John out of his chair and immediately Sherlock's hands. Are. Everywhere.

"Sherlock, what!-"

Sherlock doesn't pause in his search as he answers, his hands tugging at John's waistband, roaming down John's arms, and smoothing over his back.

"When you hide something from me, you subconciously fulfill your need to monitor my progress, yet you have not looked away from your reading even once during my search. Conclusion - you have no need to monitor my progress because you haven't hidden them in the flat you've -AH!"

Sherlock's hands cup John's crotch before moving around to cup John's arse. Sherlock cries out in truimph as he removes the crumpled cigarette pack from John's back pocket.

"- hidden them on your person." Sherlock concludes with a smirk.

John is about damn fed up with Sherlock being so stubborn and can feel a real, honest to God shouting match brewing when a ring at the doorbell brings another "interesting" case and spares them both.

V.

It is night, it is raining, and yet again they are running down a street in pursuit of London's seedy element.

John is slightly in the lead this time, Sherlock a beat behind, when they round a corner.

John has almost no time to process the fact that there is a motorcycle bearing down on him with alarming speed before two hands shove John out of the motorcycle's path with bruising force.

Sherlock throws himself backwards out of the way and John falls forward onto his hands and knees as the bike speeds harmlessly inbetween them.

John doesn't hesitate to haul himself to his feet and they are off once again.

They catch the bad guy and solve the case (of course), but this is little consolation to John who will discover two hand-shaped bruises on his arse in his bedroom mirror later that night.

+I.

John can't help but fidget.

He is pressed lightly into the bed and Sherlock is hovering above him with an intense expression as his eyes roam up and down John's body. He had naturally anticipated one of Sherlock's deductive inspections, but he hadn't expected it to last quite this...long.

It had been nearly twenty minutes now.

After the first five minutes, John's ardor had begun to cool. Over the next ten minutes, John had endured patiently. Now John was beginning to feel a creeping self-conciousness and maybe just the slightest bit annoyed. They weren't even unclothed yet.

"Sherlock," John murmured.

Sherlock's eyes rose to John's face and he frowned.

"Prolonged inspection and repetition are proven methods, John."

"Methods?"

"Of memorization," Sherlock sounded exasperated.

"Memorization? But..." John threw about, trying to figure out how to put the awkward truth into words. "It's not exactly like you haven't seen it all before Sherlock. Hell, you've even felt it all before."

"Those times were irrelevant."

"What? Why?"

Something in Sherlock's gaze shifted from intense to soft as he lowered himself down. Pressing their bodies flush against each other, Sherlock's nibbled a slow trail up John's jaw towards his ear.

John gasped and bucked up and his erection quickly returned, creating an uncomfortable situation in his jeans. Sherlock's left hand began to trail down John's shirt, fingers brushing against the edge of John's trousers.

"Because, John," Sherlock was speaking softly in his ear now, and something in John felt he shouldn't be turned on by that deep, clinical voice but he was. He really, really was. "This is the first time-" Oh god, those long pale fingers were lightly stroking him through the jeans now "-that you-" a knee drew up between his thighs and pressed against the his growing bulge "-have _chosen_-" John moaned as Sherlock's fingers gripped a nipple through his shirt "-to submit to my touch."

At the word 'submit', John can't help it. He moans loudly and bucks up into Sherlock's waiting hand. Sherlock's tongue flicks John's earlobe and John's hands come up to grip Sherlock's shoulders.

The last coherent thought to float through John's pleasure addled brain is 'Sherlock is right. Consent makes all the difference.'


End file.
